


to die on a silk throw, to die in a meadow

by bogfable



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drinking, Drug Use, Gen, Hunger Games, Talking, Trauma, a little beauyasha if you squint, idk its a hunger games au. its sad, theyre all sad and talking about mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfable/pseuds/bogfable
Summary: In the nights before the Quell, the closer-knit victors find themselves huddling together. They share consoling touches and sympathetic looks. They share drinks and whatever expensive substances they can get their hands on. Anything to stop their trembling hands, and fill the dark, dark pits in their stomachs.So Yasha finds herself standing in the hallway on the 11th floor of the training centre, surrounded by tributes in various states of stupor and mania. All of them angry.“Trash it if you want,” Beau tells them, and opens the door.---part of my hunger games au i've been infodumping about on tumblr (c-kiddo)
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Yasha, Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay & Yasha
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	to die on a silk throw, to die in a meadow

**Author's Note:**

> TW for: unhealthy drinking and drug use. basically theyre all wasted. and not coping well at all.  
> TW: mention of overdosing  
> TW for: talk of death, and suicide ideation 
> 
> \---
> 
> if you want in depth context for this fic, here is my tag, where all my ramblings are: https://c-kiddo.tumblr.com/tagged/cr2%20thg%20au
> 
> this fic also sorta goes with this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564812 !!  
> i'd reccomend reading it beforehand, even tho its not written by me, it still kinda contains a lot of character things and stuff i talked about on tumblr, plus a lot more stuff :0 like, backstories n things.
> 
> howerver,, the TL;DR is that the mighty nein, in this setting, are all previous victors of the hunger games. many of them have been part of the growing plans of the next rebellion, and so for the 75th games it is announced that the remaining pool of victors is where the tributes will be reaped from.
> 
> also their districts are this:  
> cad and yasha are from 12, beau's from 11, jester and fjord are from 4, caleb and veth are from 9 (i think... i cant remember what i wrote), molly's from 8.
> 
> im really sorry if this doesnt make sense without context!! i cant really tell :')  
> i do reccommend reading viviolet's fic too.. it kinda clears stuff up.  
> also i might write this chronologically some day, but for now i dont have the spoons.. so it'll just stay as small things.

In the nights before the Quell, the closer-knit victors find themselves huddling together. They share consoling touches and sympathetic looks. They share drinks and whatever expensive substances they can get their hands on. Anything to stop their trembling hands, and fill the dark, dark pits in their stomachs.

On the first night back in the Capitol, Beau had welcomed the victors into the District 11 suite. The victors without death-sentences had declined, trying their best to be good mentors to their long-time friends and acquaintances who they’d watch die in a week — those who’d been reaped had at once less and more to think about.

So Yasha finds herself standing in the hallway on the 11th floor of the training centre, surrounded by tributes in various states of stupor and mania. All of them angry.

“Trash it if you want,” Beau tells them, opening the door.

So they stream in, turn the music up loud and drink the most expensive wines available — a bottle or two or three to whoever wants them.

Not long after midnight Yasha finds herself wandering, seeking some quiet away from the chatter at the dining table and the horrible tv rebroadcasts of reapings and Capitol idiots analysing them.

She peers into one the several huge bathrooms, the bath the size of a small pond.

Water heated on demand is still strange, still such a novelty. Even in her house in the Victor’s Village Yasha finds herself bathing quickly in lukewarm water, as if someone will take it away if she uses too much. The heating’s unreliable in 12 anyway. The guilt of running a full bath of near-scalding water is unbearable.

She finds someone in one of the bedrooms the size of 12’s houses. A familiar shape, hair stripped to white once again — Caduceus. He lies on his back, long limbs sprawled across the bed, and he makes a small noise of acknowledgement as she enters the room, an ear flicking in her direction. He doesn’t move as Yasha draws closer, and as she bends over him she sees exactly why. His eyes —half closed— bear pupils so large they swallow nearly all of his pink irises whole. His mouth curls upwards just slightly more than usual, into the laziest smile. He doesn’t blink.

Yasha curses to herself, pacing. Then she has to sit on the edge of the bed because the room still hasn’t stopped swaying, not fully.

“Caduceus?” she tries, nudging his shoulder.

He makes another wordless noise. And he blinks this time, thankfully.  
“Can you— Do you understand me?” Yasha asks. She waits for a long, long moment, until finally he nods. Slowly. Just once.

“Good. That’s good.”

In the dim light Yasha searches bed and finds a finely embroidered bag amongst the sheets. She takes it, tugs it open. There’s nothing much inside, just a beautifully ornate card that reads the variety and dosage of whatever strange, lab-grown, dried fruit it had contained.

She looks back to Caduceus, borderline comatose on the bed. His too-pretty outfit of silk-lined robes and a long forest green dress is all crumpled, twisted and tangled around his legs. His carefully braided hair is a mess.  
“I’m going to roll you onto your side, okay,” Yasha says, because she doesn’t want him to stop breathing if the barely alcoholic champagne comes back up.  
“We…’re going to die anyway,” mumbles Caduceus as Yasha pulls him onto his side. She almost startles, not expecting full sentences.  
She nods and props his head up with a pillow. “Yes… But choking on vomit would— What a way to go.”

“It’s alright.” Caduceus yawns. His quiet words are slipping together. “’m tired.”

Sighing, Yasha lies besides him on the too-soft bed with it’s too-silky throw. The fabric stinks of perfume, stinks of cleaning and luxury as if the scents been sewn in. It burns her nose.

“At least wake up so we can have tea in the morning on the roof.”

Caduceus smiles a little wider — all crooked, gapped teeth and a snaggletooth showing.

 _And to go home to Clarabelle, to all of them,_ Yasha wants to say. _They’ll miss you._

But she can’t say it. Because the odds are stacked against him. They both know it. Everyone does.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Yasha startles, and she’s on her feet besides the bed before she realises she’s getting up.

It’s only Beau, leaning on the doorframe with the most lopsided shit-eating grin, a bottle worth hundreds in her hand.

“No,” Yasha replies. “No, we were just— No.”  
“Relax,” Beau says. “Sorry, Yasha. I was just fucking with you. I know that’s not— whatever.” She wanders closer, peering at Caduceus, her brow furrowed. “Is he okay?”  
Yasha sighs, dropping back onto the bed. “He is… very, very, _very_ high.”  
Beau grimaces, as if to say _Yikes_. “Like, overdosed?”  
“I don’t know,” Yasha admits, thinking of the card in the bag, and the dosage she’d neglected to read. “He’s awake. Sort of… I turned him over in case he’s sick.”  
Beau sits down hard on the other side of the bed, and takes a long swig from the wine she holds. “Good call. Imagine surviving the fucking Hunger Games and then choking death on your own puke.”

Yasha smiles a smile she hopes is understanding. “Well, I told him that and he said it’s alright,” she says. “He said he’s tired.”

Beau glares at Caduceus. “What _the fuck_ , man,” she says, punching his shoulder.  
He grumbles. He doesn’t look up, though.  
“Oh, absolutely not,” Beau replies. “You’re not ODing in the Capitol’s tacky, ugly suites on their nasty drugs. None of us are. I refuse to die in a place like this. And I refuse to let you either. You deserve to die in a beautiful fuckin’ field full of flowers and willow trees n shit.”

Caduceus doesn’t say anything.

 _Maybe this years arena will be beautiful_ , Yasha thinks, as a compromise. She’d like to die amongst cornflowers and poppies, in a meadow, maybe on a mountainside.  
“It’d ruin the games a little,” Yasha says instead, drawing a quiet laugh from besides her.

“It wouldn’t,” Beau snaps. She points towards Caduceus. “They’ll send their crazy medics in and revive you. There’s no way they’ll let us die before we step foot in that arena — they need the spectacle. They’d rather send us in hooked on morphling than let us die peacefully in our sleep.”  
There’s a tense silence. Caduceus exhales heavily, shakily.

“God,” Beau says. She puts her head in her hands, swearing to herself.

Yasha lies back, next to Caduceus, taking one of his cold hands in both of hers, as if she might warm it. Beau’s right. Of course she is. A tribute killed in the arena is a statement, an example to the districts. A reminder. A threat. Even a victory is part of their game.

“Sorry,” Beau says eventually, voice hoarse. She’s wiping her eyes as she looks up from her knees. She looks so tired, so sad. But before Yasha can reply, she’s slipped her uncaring mask back on and she’s nudging Caduceus again.

“How you feeling, Caddy?” she asks.

“…Nice.” His smiles wide, eyes glassy.

Beau takes another slow drink from her bottle. “You sure?”  
“Mhmm…” Caduceus sighs, eyelashes fluttering closed. “She’s holding me… keeping me safe…”

Beau looks to Yasha and shrugs. Yasha offers a half-shrug in return and presses her lips together.  
“He’ll be fine,” Beau says. “Probably.”  
Yasha sighs, nodding. “Can we stay here tonight?”

“Sure,” Beau replies. “Veth threw a glass at the TV earlier, by the way, right at Ikithon’s face… Her and Jes are passed out on the sofa already. Me and Fjord and Caleb are still chatting, though.”

“Ah…I think I’ll join you soon,” Yasha says. “In a moment.”

Beau nods.  
“Help me get him comfortable?”  
“Sure.”

Together they kneel atop the quilt, hauling Caduceus upright and untangling him from his robes. His head rolls this way and that as they do, and he mumbles quiet words — A _thank you_ as his shoes are pulled off, a _wow_ as he’s laid back down.

“You’re going to have to hold onto him on the chariot tomorrow,” Beau says, laughing tiredly.

Yasha sighs as she takes off Caduceus’ necklace —it’s gold, with green gemstones. A gift from some Capitol citizen— and slips it into her pocket. _Don’t need another choking hazard_. She leaves the cord one on though, a woven braid of dyed strings decorated by a single beetle-shaped bead. The kind Clarabelle makes on their front doorstep in the victor’s village.

“Listen,” Caduceus mumbles.

All Yasha hears is Beau, as she hauls a spare quilt from a closet with a grunt. “I’ll keep an eye on him if you want. And y’know, in the morning we can ask for something from the medics, just in case.” She throws the blanket over Caduceus.

Yasha nods.  
Caduceus mumbles a slurred _goodnight,_ and just as quickly his breathing evens out, turns to gentle snores.

Beau stands by the door, bottle cradled in the crook of her elbow. “Y’alright, Yash?”

Yasha laughs before she can stop herself.

Beau’s laughing too. “Stupid question,” she says.

“Only a little.” Yasha replies. She exhales, long and slow. “We should try to get at least some sleep. I don’t want to be too… _destroyed_ in the morning.”

“They’ve got pills for that too,” Beau says as she turns and steps into the hallway, headed for the lounge. She raises her bottle, toasting half-heartedly to no-one in particular. “The wonders of Capitol medicine!”

Yasha laughs quietly, shaking her head. Once Beau’s gone and the distant chatter swells once more she pushes up off the bed, stepping towards the vast window on the opposite side of the bedroom. It’s strange, the openness — exposing and caging. Yasha lets her fingertips graze the spotless glass as she looks out, lets her skin leave smudges as she leans into the cold. The city lights below are endless, stretching out towards the horizon. They’re dizzying and glowing, drowning out the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> thankyou so much for reading ;w; 
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated <3


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